Addicted to Love
by ghfann5
Summary: GH couplings-some canon, some not; some typical, some not-one-shots inspired by songs. It's love, it's lust, passion and longing and heartbreak. Chapter 14: Dillon & Kristina; Chapter 15: Hayden & Finn
1. Unthinkable (I'm Ready): Sam and Patrick

_a different kind of proposal (title from Alicia Keys)_

The kids were asleep down the hall, so we tried our best to be quiet.

God, I love him like this—sweaty, panting, caressing, mostly shadow above me. I love him. I _love_ him. I want to scream it, and I think he knows that when he smirks at me in that secret way and then shushes me. I hadn't even made a sound louder than a whimper yet, but I soon realize he was quieting me in advance as he lifts my legs even higher and I feel like I might pass out. So out of breath I can't tell him that I need a break, just to find my way back to by body. But I can see in his eyes that he is nowhere near finished with me.

I imagine him thinking, _I could spend the rest of my life with you_. I swear I can almost hear it whenever his eyes meet mine and soften, like he can't believe this is real. He kisses me, after one of those looks. Long and soft, so our bodies stop moving. "I want to marry you," he whispers, catching me off-guard as usual.

And I should be afraid. There was a time not so long ago that I would have ended things right there. But I'd be lying if I told him it was too soon, that I never fantasized about that life with him. I could say nothing, pretend I didn't hear it.

This man is my family now. He loves my son like he loves his daughter, and I think I deserve this. I want this forever. I won't say that word to him, but before he can take it back I'm smiling.

"Okay."


	2. Secrets: Valerie and Kristina

_if Valerie had an affair with a different Corinthos (title from Kat Graham)_

"I'm not anything!" She looks around the bar and lowers her voice. " _We're_ not anything."

I'm too stunned to stop her as she grabs her purse and practically runs out the door. I'm an idiot. She told me this would happen. "Don't fall in love with me," she'd joked that first night. We both laughed when she quoted the movie we'd been watching, but I was already in deep.

"Anything else?" the bartender asks me. I'll cry if I open my mouth, so I shake my head and reach in my bag for my wallet.

The walk to the pier doesn't exist, and I can only remember the one time she let me hold her hand. It was late, too late for anyone to see us. She almost kissed me under the dim lights along the steps, but a stuttering streetlight scared her away. We went to her cousin's island and we make love. _Fooled around_ , she called it, but I knew better. Now I'm waiting for the ferry again, going back to the place where we were last happy. I'll crawl into the bed we shared.

 _Can I kiss you?_ She was so afraid to start anything, I knew, but I said yes. Because I had to finally know what she felt like. Her scent had been teasing me for weeks, and I thought one taste would be enough. But it wasn't enough for either of us, to stop at kissing, hugging. When her tentative hand stroked my side, then brushed my breast, and crept to the hemline of my dress, I knew to try to stop would be hopeless.

And now...I don't know if the remnants of our intimacy will be enough.


	3. Be My Girl: Dillon and Maxie

_making this movie presents Dillon with an unexpected challenge (title from John & Jacob)_

How could I have been so blind? Maxie is beautiful; I've always known that. But she's different now. More mature, more thoughtful, and even fiercer than I remember. Yes, she's still impulsive and a bit rebellious, but it agrees with her newfound confidence—not that bravado of an abandoned and hurt little girl, but of a woman who has experienced life and learned from it. I'm almost certain motherhood is the cause for most of these changes.

Our shared past is all but forgotten when I ask her about little Georgie, the love of her life. She gets new pictures of her daughter every day and insists on showing them to me before we get any work done.

I'm sure she's noticed the difference. Sometimes I just stare at her and she catches me. She doesn't give in, waiting to see if I'll look away. I did at first, embarrassed to have been found out admiring her so blatantly. But when she didn't call me on in it, instead challenging my resolve with those impossibly blue eyes, I accepted her silent dare.

And when she leaves at the end of the day, draped beneath the detective's arm, she throws me a smile over her shoulder, a promise that the game will continue the next day.


	4. Blue Jeans: Kristina and Johnny

_johnny makes a stop at a certain college dorm as he evades the law (title from Lana Del Rey)_

He knew he could count on me, family loyalties be damned.

And I can't even say what it is about him that calls to me, other than being the exact opposite of what I should want. My parents set me up for a good life, all the opportunities I could want at my fingertips. Yet here I am, risking it all for him.

I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I know it won't last, but I crave every second I can get with him. I let him know I'm worth it, that I'm not that little girl he felt obligated to protect all those years ago.

" _Kristina_."

I'm glad he doesn't call me Krissy, seemingly the only one who sees me as an adult now. He lets me take control.

His hands are bruising my hips as I ride him, but I grab them and make him palm my breasts. He takes over then, an expert with his hands. I drag my nails down his chest—hot and sweaty for _me_ —and I'm especially attentive to his sensitive nipples. His mouth is open but no sound is coming out, and I take my victory with extreme pride, slapping against him harder and faster, the sounds of our bodies coming together and my own moaning sending me quickly to the breaking point.

But he doesn't cum with me and I'm ready for more, already slick from my own sweat and arousal. Before I know it I'm collapsed on his chest and he's thrusting his hips up to meet mine, any semblance of rhythm long forgotten.

I'm wound up again and take him with me this time.

As his cock finally spasms inside me, I can already sense him pulling away.

He laid his cards out before we got this far; he's a wanted fugitive, I'm a college student. He just needed a place to stay for a few nights, and he trusted me. I told him I was fine with that. I think we both knew that I wasn't, but ultimately we fell in this bed together for the same reason; to not be lonely. Or at least pretend to, for a while.

I won't be surprised if this is the last I hear of him.


	5. Burn With You: Lulu and Dante

_she hates him, but she just can't let him go (title from Lea Michele)_

I am not this woman. A man cheats on you, leave his ass. If that man is your husband and the woman he slept with is your cousin, kick his ass. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered harming him physically. But the more rational part of me settled for kicking him—and his things—out of the loft.

But ration and logic don't mean shit once the heart is involved and, dammit, mine is in deep.

He must think he won, having me in his bed again. Not _our_ bed, where he drunkenly fucked my cousin, but his stiff mattress at the MectroCourt served its purpose. It wasn't my initial purpose, but those papers were scattered somewhere in the hotel room.

God, why did I let this happen?

We were never this destructive, toxic couple. Even when we were at odds we knew we were right for each other. Hell, even when I didn't remember him, he stayed by my side. Which is why it is so hard to reconcile that man with the adulterer beside me.

And if he's the cheating asshole, what does that make me? The sad, pathetic wronged wife desperate to hang on to the past. But I know—I _know_ it's not healthy, this back and forth between us. And it's not fair to our son. He didn't ask for any of this, but he can definitely understand that there had been a major change in his home life.

If I could forgive Dante, we would be back home together in a heartbeat. Instead, we have arguments that turn into sex—and okay, it's pretty effing _amazing_ sex—that turn into further unresolved issues.

I hate myself for being this weak person, but I'm connected to him. Inexplicably. This has to end, 'cause I know that if we keep this up, it'll end in flames.


	6. Like We're Making Love: Alexis & Julian

_ultimately they have the same sense of romance (title from Ciara)_

It happened again.

It's not like I was _banning_ sex. Call it...a moratorium. And just until the wedding. Consider me old-fashioned (except not really because my fiancé is my long-lost daughter's long-lost father/reformed mobster and we've had sex in literally _every_ building we've ever been in together—and there's certain pride that comes with that), but I thought it would be romantic to hold off until the big day. Which is three days from now.

But Julian is an unrelenting son of a bitch and he knows all of my weaknesses. Which is why we're shamelessly locked together on the table of one of my firm's conference rooms, not one patch of clothing separating us. This is the second time since I announced my intentions the day before— _literally yesterday_ —that he's broken me and God help me, I love it when he breaks me.

"This is bad," but I know he can't take me seriously with me gasping for air like this.

Stupid, fucking sexy smirk. "You and I both know you like being bad."

"Only with you."He grunts and pushes me even harder against the mahogany surface.

 _I can be romantic, too_ , he'd said. With the swipe of his phone jazz music filled the air. I set down the bouquet he had given me—he takes our lunch dates very seriously—and practically fall into his arms. Though, in my defense, my morning had been particularly stressful and I needed some stress relief.

I swear, I was being good, simply enjoying the way our bodies moved in sync with my heartbeat. But Julian, unsurprisingly, had ulterior motives. That was my first rookie mistake. My second was indulging in the innocent kiss he left on my neck. It started romantic, but practically without any buildup at all, there was liftoff.

I had to get rid of his shirt first, and stop him from ripping mine off by reminding him that I still had to work after (which he still didn't care about, but grudgingly agreed to).

Julian's a grabber; face, waist, tits, ass. And he seizes me excruciatingly, deliciously. In the back of my mind I'm thinking of how pathetic we are that we can't go hours without giving into desire, but the current debauchery at play shuts down that idiotic thought.

We bang like bunnies. Like we're making babies. Like it's the end of the world. But it's always been like this with us (excluding the first time because, let's be honest; it was nice for it being a first time but that was nothing compared to the intense, spiritual and physical _wow_ he gives me now).

We're romantic in our own way, I decide as he helps me get redressed, calling me his blushing bride (blushing, hot, bruised).

I leave him naked for a few moments longer, thoroughly enjoying the view. He doesn't mind my perusal—encourages it, in fact.

Stupid, fucking sexy smirk.

He strokes himself for me, ready for another round. And really, what's the point of attempting this façade of chastity? Whatever other business I needed to work on can wait until the evening. Or the next morning.


	7. Only Love: Michael and Sabrina

_she left him tortured, aching (title from Paloma Faith's Only Love Can Hurt Like This)_

I have the worst luck with women. They all leave me; they die, they sleep with my brother, they disappear.

Sabrina disappeared.

And I'm left to here to worry about her and the baby, to want them. Dammit, that should have been my baby. He could have been. But I have the worst luck with women, so I pushed her away and came to my senses too late. If I thought that she could forgive me, I would do everything I can to track them down and create a home with them.

I had all I could ever dream of with Sabrina. For once, I was lucky. This beautiful, compassionate, perfect-for-me woman just kind of tumbled into my life, and healed me. I was nowhere near worthy of her love, but she gave it, and accepted mine in kind.

I'm good for fucking up a good thing. Family curse, I suppose— Spencer or Quartermaine, or the combination with a side of Corinthos was a recipe for tragedy.

Fuck, I could use a drink. All the time now. But every time I pick up a bottle I still think of how much she wouldn't want that for me. So I have to live with my thoughts.

I can only sleep in the pitch dark now, my only company a pillow that's starting not to smell like her anymore. I'm missing the moonlight hitting her smile. Her legs tangling with mind. Those eyes. And, God, those curves. Even when she grew tense with her pregnancy and I ignored the secrets that occupied those very eyes I adored, she loved me with her whole body. Looking back, what I associated with hormones was probably just her way of overcompensating. Still. We were so close to perfect.

I miss the way we said goodnight, her long dark hair wrapped around my fingers while she left burning kisses—Christ, they were deadly kisses.

The way I feel now, constantly feeling like I'm being stabbed, I know it can only be love. It was so fast—only a few months we were together but I swear...we could have been a lifetime.


	8. My Mind Says (So Gone): Maxie & Dillon

Part 1: My Mind Says (so gone): Maxie and Dillon

 _end-of-summer late nights at the office (from Jill Scott)_

I've been down this road before.

I was notorious for it; lying, sneaking, betraying. Guilt was never enough to stop me then. Apparently it's not going to stop me now.

I _need_ this. I need _him_. It was so inevitable, I want to slap myself for not seeing it sooner. Over these past few months, Dillon has easily become one of the best friends I ever had. And we work together so perfectly. He's more than a friend and coworker. He's my partner. We know what the other wants without ever having to say a word.

He pulls my hair. He knows I love that. Knows because this isn't the first time we've used Nina's office desk after hours to give in to our needs.

I hear a voice in my head telling me to end this, but my body ignores it as he orders me to lay back. He's breathless and damn it if the way he reacts to me doesn't nearly make me come on the spot. But it's his tongue on my inner thigh moving higher and higher and

"Ah!"

Jesus!

"We have to be quieter than that," he says against me, his breath the sweetest torture on my sensitive clit.

"Fuck you." I glance down as he sets his chin below my belly button, his smile playful and eyes sparkling. "Better yet, fuck _me_." His eyes and smile grow darker. Without much preamble, he grabs me by the waist and yanks me to the edge of the desk. He pulls a packet from the back pocket of his jeans and lets me undo his belt and buttons. I would have stroked him the way he likes, but we're in a bit of a hurry tonight, so he quickly but carefully rolls the condom on and

"Oh!"

There's nothing at all gentle the way he pushes me back down or pulls me onto him. Nothing like the first time, when he was hesitant and worried and ' _are-you-sure-about-this?'_ I wasn't sure then, because one big fight didn't mean the end of my relationship with Nathan, but I'd needed something. And now I can't get enough of it.

"Nnna—Dillon!"

Shit! What is wrong with me? Almost yelling my boyfriend's name while my lover is fucking me? Maybe he didn't hear it. Maybe the falter in his steady pounding is something I imagined.

Probably not, I realize later as we're trying to right out boss's belongings on her desk. He's not looking at me, not saying anything. He doesn't kiss me goodnight like he usually does before he takes the first elevator ride down. Doesn't text to make sure I got home alright.

 _Home to my boyfriend_.

I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. I can't believe I'm crying alone in the shower over him, trying not to be too loud because Nathan is in the next room sleeping.

Still, it's not enough for me to stop wanting more.

I just need...more.

 _ **FYI, I got carried away with Maxie and Dillon's story, so there will be more...**_


	9. Want to Want Me: Patrick and Sam

Want to Want Me: Patrick and Sam

 _The Drakes want it bad. (title from Jason Derulo)_

I look down at my phone again as I climb into my car. I'd called Sam during some down time during my afternoon rounds. She told me that the kids were having a sleepover with Molly, and that it'd be the perfect night for us to go out on a date. I was excited to treat my wife to a nice dinner.

But then, work happened, and I was kept almost two hours later than I intended and Sam had yet to respond to my apology text. I hate to have to disappoint her, but hopefully I can make amends in some way. I try calling Sam again at a red light. No answer.

The drive home seems longer tonight, and I'm so relieved when I finally pull into the driveway.

I practically run to the door. Even though I'm sure Sam would understand, I still feel bad about bailing out on our plans when we have so few opportunities to go out as it is, what with our children and combined work schedules.

I jog up the couple of steps to their front door, keys in hand. I don't even get the chance to unlock it before it opens without my assistance. The apology I'd prepared dies on my lips as my wife opens the door. Literally wearing nothing. Except the shit-eating grin at my open-mouthed, wide-eyed response.

"M—m—ha—wha—?" I stutter. I'm reminded of the time soon after our first kiss and she'd opened the door wearing just a towel. It was obvious that she'd just jumped out of the shower, the water still dripping from her hair and skin.

But this was so much…better.

"Surprise," she said in that low voice that told me exactly what I was in for. Still, I can't seem to form actual words.

"Now, unless you want me to show the neighbors the other surprise I have for you, I suggest you take me inside, doctor."

 _Shit_. It hadn't even occurred to me that she was out in the open—though I doubted there were many people still up at this hour—for anyone to see.

It also never occurred to me that the image of her in all her delicious, naked glory where anyone passing by or glancing out their windows could see her was such a turn-on. And if I wasn't instantly hard looking at her like this, I don't think I would mind her parading that fucking gorgeous body and making everyone with sight jealous.

"You want me to take you?" _Fuck_ , am I growling? If I am, it has an immediate reaction; the sharp inhale lifts her chest and her almost brown nipples look even harder.

"Please," she whimpers back.

"Where?"

"Any-fucking-where. Everywhere. Right here, the car, the kitchen table, the shower. Do whatever you want with me, Dr. Drake."

She didn't mention our bed so I'm guessing she isn't looking to make love. She wants to fuck. I am not a man that needs to be told twice. But I'm pretty sure what I want to do to her is illegal to do outside, so her back against the inside of the front door it is.

I get us there so fast, Sam barely even have time to move her feet. But she doesn't mind; she pretty much jumps to get her arms around my neck and legs around my waist, kissing the hell out of me. I happen to know for a fact that this is one of her favorite things, wrapping herself around me and being able to control me face to face. But the attack was so sudden I didn't have time to fix one problem.

"Great as this is," I tell her, pulling away from her lips, "I can't do too much fully dressed."

Sam giggles—like, actually giggles and it's fucking adorably goofy and breathless and I need these clothes off now. "Sorry," she said before pecking my mouth and jumping down.

Before I can say or do anything else, she's kneeling and unbuckling my belt. She looks up at me and smirks. "Take your shirt off," she orders. But I'm too mesmerized at the sight before me. She's undone my button and zipper now, but stops when I don't comply.

Our eye contact is steady as she palms me through my pants, then squeezes—not unpleasantly.

"I meant, _now_."

A few of the buttons of my dress shirt are popped off in my haste to please her. She waits until my torso is completely bare before she continues to bull my pants and briefs down until they get caught at my shoes, which I help get rid of. Once my socks are off, we're on even playing field. She doesn't touch me—which might be for the best because I might literally explode if she does.

Sam stands up slowly, looking at me with those sultry whiskey eyes.

"What do you want?" she asks, granting me full permission. Anywhere, anyhow. The possibilities are endless, but I need something immediate.

"You. Right here."

She takes another leap, and this time I lift her high enough to be eye level with her breasts. Sam watches me intensely as I bring my mouth to one nipple and then the other. I bite down kind of hard and she moans as her body jerks.

"Oh…Patrick," she breathes.

She needs it as bad as I do. I lower her some and she reaches under herself to take hold of my hard dick. I breathe in sharply as she aligns us. Before we take that first plunge she looks at me.

All the seductiveness is gone from her face, replaced with something gentler. She kisses me softly.

"I love you."

"I love you."

And as if the tender moment didn't happen, that devilish smirk of hers is back and she lowers herself onto me.

A chorus of moaning fills the otherwise empty house.

We don't even move the one foot to the door; I'm just standing in the middle of the room with the most beautiful, the most amazing person I'm lucky enough to get to call my wife bouncing against me, riding my dick and biting my shoulder like I'm her lifeline.

Like she's mine.


	10. Roses and Violets: Sabrina and Michael

Roses and Violets: Sabrina and Michael (Alexander Jean)

 _she knows they're meant to be together._

Peace settles over me again as I look out of my window overlooking the impressive greenery in the early evening light. I shouldn't feel this safe, this comfortable in the Quartermaine house, but this feels like home. Under the same roof as my son again, and practically within reaching distance of the man I love.

Michael says he forgives me. I believe him, but it's not the same. I left with another man—the biggest mistake of my life—and my decisions leading up to that destroyed the trust he once had in me. Fortunately in the weeks since I've been back, we've at least been able to become friends again.

There are moments—God, there are always moments—that he looks at me and I think he could love me again, the way he used to. Like when he offers to help me give Eduardo his bath, or we sit at the dinner table and we share a knowing smile over the arguments surrounding us. When he accidentally brushes against me, or keeps his hand on my shoulder too long and we forget to look away.

I know there are things working against us: his tentative trust is one—deservingly so. I mean, I lied to him about being the father of my child. And I should have known that it wouldn't have hurt him so deeply if I had just been honest from the beginning. I know he would have still loved me and our little Teddy bear—that's what Michael calls him—if I had just given him the chance.

Another obstacle is his family. His parents, to be exact. They weren't fond of Michael "taking me in" and they didn't hold back their feelings just because I was in the room. I know what I did was wrong and I've done all I can to pay for my actions. And honestly, I've heard enough stories from Michael about his parents to know that the Corinthos hypocrisy is strong.

Anyway, Michael basically told them that he would do what he damn well pleased and that their presence in his life was a privilege and they no longer had no say over his decisions. Or something like that. There was definitely a moment after they left, after Michael defended me and our relationship (a loose term, really).

A noise comes over the baby monitor, and I wait to see if my son is going to fall back asleep. When his whimpering becomes stuttered cries, I leave my room to enter his through the door that connects them.

I still feel relief every time I hold him, thinking of when we were apart; thinking of Gabriel. I'm trying to calm him with gentle rocking and quiet humming when the door opens. It's Michael. As he usually does, he looks a bit uncomfortable at first as if he's intruding, but I smile to let him know it's okay.

"I heard him crying…thought I'd come see if you needed a hand."

"Please, it's got nothing to do with helping me and everything to do with hanging out with your new BFF," I tease.

He laughs at that and walks closer. "I can't argue with that," he says.

I seamlessly pass my son to Michael. It's a practically a routine by now, one of us entertaining the baby or changing his diaper while the other takes a bottle of formula from the mini fridge and puts it in the bottle warmer on the nearby dresser.

"And how are we today, Teddy Bear? Did you have a good nap?"

Michael always waits a beat as if listening to Teddy's answer, which today is a yawning-stretch combo.

"Good. Rest and good food. It's what helps little boys grow. But first, I think Mama wants to change your diaper."

The diaper's already in my hand, ready to hand off to Michael. And at the tip of my tongue is, _Daddy's turn_ , and it scares me because this feels so much like family when it's not.

"You said if I dealt with the explosion earlier, you would do the next five," I remind him.

"I meant the next five _stinky_ ones. He's just wet now."

My fake scowl makes him laugh as he takes the diaper and moves to the changing table.

"Mama's scary, so we better do what she says," he stage whispers. It's all so damn domestic and fun and blissful, and it feels so right. Can love just be enough for him? Because I know we have that. It's everything else…

"Sabrina?" Michael's picking up Teddy and walking back to me, the whole changing apparently over. "Something on your mind?"

I must be frowning—he says I always frown when I get lost in my thoughts. As if to prove me right, he smoothes the pad of his thumb between my brows like he used to. He smiles at me the same, amused but still concerned. It's all so familiar—yet so different, I'm starkly reminded as Teddy makes a happy gurgle.

Michael looks at me, really looks at me, taking his time and probably reading my mind (which is a thought I have often when I stare into his light eyes—not intrusively piercing, but knowing all the same).

"Yes," I make myself say. "There's something on my mind."

Except, how to say everything that needs to be said? How he makes me feel? The daunting prospect makes me lose my courage.

Michael sees me deflate and sighs.

"There's still time," he tells me.

"Time?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not going anywhere soon, and I don't think you are?"

He lifts an eyebrow in question, to which I hastily shake my head to.

"Then…you've got time. We have time. So whatever you're thinking, when you— _if_ you want to tell me, there's still time."

Michael Quartermaine, mind-reader. I'm too stunned to say anything, and grateful for it because he just opened the door that I thought was only one-way. Now I have to process that this crazy feeling that I've been having, that we were meant to be together, is maybe not so crazy after all because Michael's left the door open.

"There's still time." I echo.

He just nods as his shoulders visibly relax.

"Okay."

"Okay."


	11. I Know What You Did: Nathan and Maxie

Part 2 (aftermath of chapter 8) : I Know What You Did Last Summer: Nathan and Maxie

 _he knows (from Shawn Mendes and Camilla Cabello)_

She can't honestly believe that I don't know. We went from being each other's world—lovers, partners—to glorified roommates. All those nights she and Dillon are "working"—give me a break. But still, I'd rather have her here with me in some capacity. Even if we've drifted away from one another these past few months. I'm not a masochist; I'm just a coward. Every night she comes home and I pretend to be asleep, 'cause neither of us can say what's really going on.

We used to be worth fighting for, didn't we? A year ago I would have had to have been stopped from killing Dillon if I even suspected he was making moves on Maxie. Now, we both pretend that we don't know what's going on. So it's no surprise that she's home late again and heads straight for shower—for which of our benefit, I don't know—and I make no move to greet her.

She finally comes to bed, but she doesn't immediately turn her back to me. Instead she turns on the bedside lamp.

"Nathan."

 _And_ she's speaking to me? Something's up.

So I roll over to ask if she's okay. Except it comes out,

"Did he hurt you?"

Because, fuck all pretense now.

"No."

Good. She's over the charade too.

"I think I hurt him. But that seems to be my specialty."

The sad confession rolls off her tongue, like she needs to get this off her chest. Now's the time to remind her that I'm not Lulu; I'm not her girlfriend and I don't want to hear about how she hurt her _other_ boyfriend's feelings.

"This is it for us."

Not a question. A demand.

"For him." She's leaving me for him. That's why she's finally decided to talk about it.

"For _us_ ," she insists, which is bullshit.

"Don't lie to me, Maxie. Please, not now."

"I'm not. Dillon probably wants nothing to do with me now."

Surprisingly, I still want to hit something when she says his name.

"Why?" I ask instead. And it's the big why for it all. I don't have to explain because for as distant as we've grown, we still _know_ each other.

"You _know_ why."

"You slept with Dillon," I bite back, at which she simply scoffs.

"What, Maxie? That's the truth."

"No, the truth is that Dillon was a reaction."

"To what?"

"Don't you dare play dumb." At least she's looking at me now, and with more emotion than I've seen in months.

"Please, enlighten me. What was bad enough for you to cheat on me?" I know her. What I'm offering is a challenge, 'cause I don't want to be the one to spell out the end.

"I wasn't the first one of us to bring someone else into our relationship."

She won't say _Claudette_ , but sure enough she's there.

But she knows me too, knows that the only words left between us now are the truth, and the truth will be the thing that kills us. She's done hiding.

"Did you stop loving me?" Damn, I sound pathetic.

"Never. I…I needed you, but you weren't there so I….And at first, I made myself sick with how guilty I felt. I was sure that you would know and you would hate me. But you didn't. And what was supposed to be a one-time thing with him wasn't. I knew the right thing to do was to tell you, but the longer it went on the less you seemed to care about my life. So I stopped caring about us. And after a while I knew—I _knew_ that you had to know, and you just didn't care. I just wanted someone to care."

I swear, if she says _care_ one more time I'm going to scream.

But she's not wrong. I felt her slipping away from me and I just let her. It was a defense mechanism, and one I only used because I knew we'd come back together in the end. Obviously I was wrong.

"It's been too long since we've been all in," I agree. And I stepped out first, if I'm honest. My double life was created first and then caught up with us. I pulled away to protect her, but it only ruined us.

"So this is it." I don't even know how the hell I'm so calm right now. It's not shock; this was the next logical step.

"Yes."

I know.


	12. Sex on Fire: Sam and Patrick

_**A/N: I feel like I should apologize because this got waaaayyy out of hand. definitely one of the smuttier ones, which I'm still testing out. So, MA rating fosho. please let me know how this turned out for you. Enjoy!**_

Sex on Fire: Sam and Patrick (Kings of Leon)

 _They've been playing with fire…_

His knuckles are pale, sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life. Lips are open, forehead creased in forced concentration. I should care more about his focus on the road, but I like making it hard for him.

Literally.

"Sam…"

I think it's supposed to be a reprimand, but it sounds more like begging to me. So my hand gets bolder, removing its grip on his erection to undo his belt.

"Jesus, Sam. What are you doing to me?"

"Well if you have to ask, I'm not doing a good enough job."

"That's not—oh, God!"

Now all of that pesky fabric is out of the way, I can really get a handle on things. Turning him on is one of my absolute favorite things to do, and it gets me so fucking hot. Patrick's been happily allowing me to indulge in some of my more…public fantasies lately, which has been beneficial for both of us.

Last week it was the movie theater. Today, I asked Patrick to accompany me on some made-up errand out of town while my mom watched the kids. We took my smaller car and were shortly on the freeway. That's when I got to start the best part of my plan. Patrick had asked me the specifics of the errand, and I made my intentions pretty clear. He was taken off guard, but he didn't seem all that surprised. After all, we had recently talked about how one of _his_ fantasies was to get head while he was driving. You know, just to see if he could.

My car is low to the pavement, so I can see up into most of the cars around us. Our windows are tinted, but there's still a thrill knowing how close they all are to one of the best live shows around.

I pull my hand away after a few teasing tugs and Patrick groans. If I was wearing panties, they'd be soaked. I lean back in my seat and remove the seatbelt across my lap to give my love a look at what he does to me. As I turn, I lift up so I can pull the skirt of my strapless dress up around my waist.

"Fuck," he mutters when he looks over as I put one leg up on the dashboard.

"I wish you could taste how wet I am for you," I tease.

"You cannot say that to me right now." He takes a deep breath and I laugh.

"You know, you still could." He tries not to look at first but when I moan, he looks over to see me fingering myself.

"Shit. Shit shit shit." He grabs his dick almost angrily to get some relief.

"I need your hand," I tell him. One has to stay on the wheel, so he grunts when he has to stop rubbing himself.

With my free hand I pull the top of my dress down and Patrick takes care of the rest, palming one breast before pinching my nipple. It goes on for a while, long enough for me to reach my first orgasm. Panting, I remove my fingers for a second of reprieve.

"No," Patrick growled. "Put them back in."

I bite my lip, not wanting to whimper at the order. But this is for him as much as for me, and I am glad to do whatever makes him happy.

I'm still sensitive but it feels so fucking good, massaging my walls while Patrick's nails dig into the skin of my thigh.

"Harder." Yes.

"Faster." _Yes_.

"Come for me." _Jesus!_

Most of the time, I'm convinced that he has more control over my body than I do.

I ride my own hand as I'm overcome yet again, and my head painfully hits the passenger window. But honestly, I can't really care right now.

When I can see straight again, I look at Patrick's smirking profile.

"You liked that, did you?" I asked.

Instead of using his words like a good boy, his hand reaches up to my clit and he's suddenly pressing two fingers to the bud.

"Ah!" He doesn't take his time, his fingers flicking quicker than I can comprehend, and every muscle in my body tenses. I'm not even making sounds anymore; my mouth is just frozen open in shock.

The tension breaks.

This man….I swear, if I die right now, it would be worth it.

"Come here," he says to me.

"I…I can't."

"Yes you can. You're going come over here, and finish what you started."

I almost completely forgot about that. The excitement of accepting his challenge is the only thing giving me energy right now. By now my dress is a useless band around my waist so I shimmy out of it, leaving myself totally naked.

Patrick's erection is a deep red by the time I reach him again, the tight space providing less of any obstacle than I expected. I doubt he'll last long at this point in the game. I feel the car speed up. My buddy is feeling adventurous, indeed. I run my tongue as light as I possibly can along his length, which jumps in response. But he's been patient enough already, so I give another swipe with more pressure and add my hand to the mix.

" _Oh_ , Sammy…"

He's done nothing to deserve any further torture, so I pick up pace to the finale. The car only slightly veers when my entire mouth is full of him, but Patrick quickly rights it. I have to chuckle around him at his reaction, which sets off more of his moaning.

My fast bobbing and stroking rhythm has his hips almost completely raising from his seat—only stopped by the seatbelt he's still wearing.

"Oh, my god!" He sounds so _wrecked_ , and it prompts me to guide my free hand down my body again.

"Baby…baby, I'm…"

He doesn't have to tell me; I can feel his tension, only rivaled by my own.

"Grab the wheel," he instructs me. He sounds breathless and I'm a little worried he might actually pass out, so I take my hand off of his dick to do what he said while I take him to the back of my throat. My range of vision is a bit hindered in this position, but I peek as much as I can to see him staring with an alarming focus at the road. Right before his right hand reaches over and moves mine out of the way. He drives me to the next climax with his hand, as I drive him to his with my mouth, tongue, and throat. I feel and taste his release while I quiver around his fingers.

There are no fucking words that exist in the entire English language to describe what just happened.

The car slows to a stop. I look up a Patrick, tears pricking my eyes. He looks at me strangely, like he's not exactly sure who I am or where we are, or what the fuck just happened. His eyes are still dark, and it's a bit scary the way it thrills me yet again.

"Patrick?" My voice is strangely hoarse, as if I'd been screaming when in fact, I hadn't been able to produce a single sound for the past few minutes.

His left hand reaches over oddly to put the car in park. The other hand finally— _slowly_ —eases out of me. Patrick's eyes never leave mine as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and— _fuck me_ —licks them. Then he pulls me by my hair to kiss me. I feel a little drunk as our essences mingle together on our tongues.

When air becomes necessary again, Patrick leans back and smirks at me.

"I told you I could do it."

I have to laugh because I'm naked as hell and all he has to say is _I told you so_.

"I knew you had it in you." I pecked his lips.

"We definitely have to do that again."

"Or something like it," I tease.

"Sounds like you already have a plan, Mrs. Drake."

"More like an idea, Dr. Drake. But I think you'll like it."

"Another car ride?"

"Something like that. If only we had an upcoming event that calls for a long limousine ride to a fancy restaurant…" I mused.

"Hmm. Something like…an anniversary?"

"Oh! What a great idea!"

Patrick laughed at my enthusiasm before pausing to give me a questioning look. "But if we take a limo, we have to have a driver."

"Yes, we will. And it would be terribly embarrassing if said driver knew what we were up to in the back. Guess we'll just have to be quiet."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"What? Don't think you can handle it?"

His eyes widened. "You're joking? Sam, you were screaming like a banshee."

"What?! My mouth was a bit preoccupied, so I don't see how that's even possible."

I reached around to find my dress on the floor and began to slide it back on.

"Before that. I thought for sure the truck driver next to us could hear you."

Thinking back on it, I honestly couldn't remember that. "Really?"

"Really. Staying quiet will be _your_ challenge, not mine," he said, making himself decent again.

"Well then, challenge accepted."

He laughed and leaned in for another kiss."

"Alright babe. Ready to go home?"

"Yep." I looked out the window at the unfamiliar surroundings as I buckled myself back in.

"Patrick? Where the hell are we?"


	13. Unsteady: Lucky and Sam

Unsteady: Lucky & Sam

 _they'll always be a little unsteady (title from X Ambassadors)_

She told me once that I was unassuming. A typical nice guy.

Which is funny because we met in the middle of a bar fight. It doesn't count, she says, because I was "defending her honor." That's partly true. Yes, it pissed me off that some drunk college prick was being too unwelcomingly handsy with her, but this was also the coward that ordered a couple of his lackeys to kick my ass a couple of months before after I hustled him out of a handsome amount of cash. I was feeling completely justified when I tapped his shoulder and socked the annoyed look right off of his face. To be fair, she got in a good amount of hits too, even smashing an empty beer bottle over his head.

Security was slow to react but we both ran out of the bar when the bouncer when the muscle started our way.

That night when we were in a bed in a motel room we didn't pay for, she told me that she had pulled a similar con on the same guy, except he wasn't as drunk as she thought—just an idiot.

Later we would wonder about how two children of con artists could fail to complete a single hustle on the same incompetent jagoff only for it to bring them together.

We don't believe in fate.

Sam is nineteen, only a couple of years younger than me. She essentially grew up on the run with her father since she was a kid, crisscrossing across the country. She only set out on her own recently, after refusing her father's latest and greatest idea of marrying her off to rich guys and taking them for all they're worth.

I tried going to college once. It was great; I was independent, I was making friends, I was working towards a goal. But as he's prone to do, my father popped back into my life, pulling me into another scheme. And he's family, so. College turned out to be a short vacation from my real life, and I was back to grifting in no time while my father disappeared in the middle of the night.

We never talked about our mothers.

For months we live in our own little world, only resorting to theft when the money's tight. After nearly a year of drifting from town to town, we find a place in Port Charles, New York that we both like for the time being. We don't mean to settle down, but after we both get jobs—her as a concierge and me as a bartender—and make friends, it starts to feel a bit like home.

She's the first one to realize it, I find when I come home one night to see her frantically tossing her things in a duffle bag.

I realize it when she's about to walk out, and it feels like she's ripping my heart out with her bare hands on the way, and I know that I love her.

We've never even said that word in each other's presence, except maybe to describe her affinity for Chinese takeout or to say that we don't believe in it.

Which is a lie.

"Sam."

Her eyes are big and wet with unshed tears. She never cries.

"Don't."

"Lucky." Her saying my name, all broken like that, is her fingernails digging into the organ she holds in her palm. It'll be useless without her here.

"It wasn't supposed to be this," she tells me. "Not for us. This isn't…I can't do this."

"Yes you can!" It's ferocious, and it startles her because I hardly ever raise my voice. I'm a nice guy.

It surprised her enough to stop her in her tracks. To have her listen to me.

"Our parents set us up for failure. How the fuck were we ever supposed to know what a home is or what it is to be normal or how to love? But we did it. We're here, and I love you. It's crazy because I didn't even know until this moment that this is what love feels like. This is what home feels like. And I think you feel it too. If you do, please, don't let go of what we have. Just…be here with me."

We're both young and jaded by the worlds we grew up in. We each still carry hurt from before we met that we still haven't talked about. We've had massive blowups before that resulted in one of us not returning to out paltry apartment for days at a time. We're used to being on our own. But we always come back. There's still so much time to mess it all up, but right now, I need her.

She doesn't wipe away the falling tears. She doesn't declare her love for me. But she does let the bag drop. She steps closer, but doesn't touch me.

"I'm…scared," she whispers.

"I know. I am too."

Knowing our fears are aligned seems to reassure her, and she nods.

"Just, hold onto me?"

Then she lets me take her into my arms, and I know I'll do it as long as she lets me.


	14. Addicted to Love: Dillon and Kristina

Addicted to Love: Dillon & Kristina

 _hard as he tries, much as she denies, can they be saved? (title from Robert Palmer)_

A/N: small, M-rated, same-sex scene ahead

Kristina and Kiki were friends since they were roomed together their freshman year of college. I met Kiki when I helped my childhood friend Michael move his little sister into her dorm. The moment Michael and I laid eyes on her, we were both infatuated, much to Krissy's annoyance. Unfortunately for me, Mikey was quicker, and he and Kiki began an infamous three years of off and on shenanigans. Which was whatever, because I dated pretty regularly, pushing thoughts of anything but friendship with her out of my mind.

Kristina saw right through that.

"You are so in love with her," she told me on her couch one night. Michael and Kiki were locked in her room while I watched a movie with Kris and pretended not to know what was going on beyond that door.

"I am not," I said. Kris rolled her eyes and went back to watching the screen.

It was their graduation night, when things finally lined up with me and Kiki. Her relationship with Michael had been over for almost six months—their longest break, and final one according to Michael who was smitten with some new woman.

Michael's father hosted a large party after the ceremony, and in the middle of the festivities Kris pulled me and Kiki into an empty room.

"You're both my friends I love you guys," she said, "but this is stupid. You're being stupid. You both want each other, so have at it."

Then she left and locked us in the room. We had at it. Kristina banned both of us from sharing he details with her.

Kiki's great. The sex is amazing. Being part of a couple is rewarding. But…you know the last scene from _The Graduate_? It's kind of like that. The audience (sans Michael) was rooting for us to end up together, and when we finally did it was like, what now? I knew everything about her, which was both a comfort and a bore.

Seven months in, and I'm bored. I think she is too, but she likes this calm and stable thing we have. I can't talk to anyone about it because it makes me feel a bit like a loser, and failure. This was supposed to be _it_. She was the one for me, before we had each other. But, I'm content, for the most part.

Kristina stays with friends or temporary lovers these days. She occasionally comes back to the apartment that she and Kiki share, but she rarely sleeps there. Not since I started dating her best friend. It's weird, because Kris also became my best friend over the years, and then she sort of disappeared. She drifts from job to job because she can afford it on her trust fund and she hates being in one place too long. She has commitment issues, according to anyone who's ever met her. Michael worries because he thinks she's hanging with the wrong crowd (like she's in an after school special) and doing drugs. She is; she "dates" scum and smokes pot. It helps with her anxiety, she explained. I love the girl, but I don't worry about her as much as Michael. He takes his big brother role very seriously.

All this to say, I don't expect to see Kris during the week, not at her apartment—to which I now have a key—not on the central couch in the apartment, not completely naked on the couch, not with some busty blonde going down on her.

I had in my headphones when I came in and closed the door behind me, but the blasting stereo was louder than my music. I pulled the buds out of my ears and stared at the two women on the couch, and I'm sure this is some bizarre dream sequence. I don't know why my mind would conjure this, but that's the only explanation I can come up with.

I should leave. I should leave. I'm leaving before they can notice I'm even there.

But I get caught. Kristina's head turns in my direction and our eyes meet. I open my mouth to say something, to apologize, but I can't. She looks scared for half a second, but her budding orgasm contorts her face. Her mouth opens, she's still staring at me when she comes. Your best friend's O-face is something you will never be able to forget—I know that as soon as it happens.

Her pupils are blown and her chest is heaving—did I miss when she grew breasts?—and she smiles at me. She looks back at her lover, and quickly reverses their positions, the blonde—I think Kris introduced the classmate months before as Megan?—still oblivious to my presence.

I rush out of there before I can see any more.

The next time I see her is a couple of weeks later on Michael's birthday. She keeps shooting me looks in the restaurant, like she's worried I'm going to bring it up. So I don't. Another month passes before I even hear anything about her. Kiki tells me that she's out of town partying, that she wishes she could afford to party for a living. But it means we'll have the apartment to ourselves, so.

Then, nearly a month after that, Michael asks me to pick her up from the airport. He has some emergency meeting at work and Kristina hates being driven around by their father's people. He wants me to make sure she gets home safely.

"Of course. No problem." What else was I going to say?

When I pull up and she spots me, I don't think I'm imagining how her face falls. She doesn't have any bags.

"Hey," I say when she slides into the passenger seat. "How was Mexico?"

"I was in Tokyo."

"Why?"

"Why not?" It's how she lives her life, asking that question.

"Well I would know your recent whereabouts if you stayed in contact with us."

"I talked to Michael."

"Yeah, but…" I didn't notice it at first, but she looks sad staring at the road before us.

"Did you have fun?"

She nods with a smile that doesn't light up her eyes the way they used to.

We drive for forty minutes in silence, with the exception of the radio she keeps messing with. When I pull into the parking garage of her building, she doesn't move to get out of the car.

"I was in love," she speaks into the quiet, as if answering a question I never asked.

I didn't expect her to say that, or anything at all. But I'm back in friend mode, prepared to hear about her broken heart and the person that broke it. I'm almost positive that it's the woman I walked in on her with. Was she scared, this whole time, to tell people—tell _me_ —that she was interested in women? Was that the reason for the distance?

"You were?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes."

"Not anymore?"

"I don't know."

"And the person you…what happened?"

"Fell in love with someone else. Some fun, smart, gorgeous blonde. So typical." She scoffs. "It's my own fault."

"No, Kris…"

"It is. I've been doing shit like this my whole life. Making it easy for people to leave me. My mom left me when I was five. Did you know that?"

I did know. Michael told me years ago when I asked about Kris's mother.

"Growing up, I don't remember ever wishing she had stayed. I just wished that she had left sooner. Before we made memories that I would remember for the rest of my life. That's the cruel part; I know what it's like to have and love a mother; I know what it's like when you realize you're not enough to make her stay. I wish she took the memories with her, but I still remember her, in bits in pieces."

In all the years we've known each other, she's only ever been Michael's carefree little sister. I don't even recognize this dazed, frail woman next to me. I don't know what to say.

"I dated in high school, because that's what we did and that's how we proved ourselves. But I never dated them long. I dated them for an even shorter time in college. I was the free-spirited party girl. It was a role, and I played the hell out of it. I used to tell people, 'I don't believe in monogamy.' 'Fuck whoever you can, whenever, however. Fuck 'em, and leave 'em.' That's why it's so ridiculous for me to fall in love. I never wanted it. I hated fairytales with happily ever after, because I knew the truth. Love _does_ die. It fades. It leaves. It hurts.

"I wished I could be different. Or, the same. Like other girls. Like Kiki. Normal. I would want to be in love, to have someone be in love with me. I would be part of a couple, part of something real and important. You know what I mean?"

It's a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway. "I know exactly what you mean." She's skeptical, I can tell. Unsurprising, since I've been in love with love since I was a kid. I'm always trying to live up to the legend. She's been doing the exact opposite. But I get it, the appeal of being part of an 'us.' It can be…addicting.

Like my relationship with Kiki. Or my obsession with my college girlfriend. My all-in attitude with my two high school girlfriends.

"Are you in love with Kiki?" she asks me.

Am I? "I love her."

She looks away quickly, then back again with a question in her eyes. "Say it again."

"I love her? I love her." I told anyone who would listen that. I believed it. I was proud of it.

"That's not what I asked you."

It's not, but lying to myself is one thing. Lying to her, it feels impossible.

"I know."

She looks hurt, and I remember that she was Kiki's friend first. She helped push us together. If I hurt Kiki, I hurt both of them.

"Do you ever regret…being with her?"

"No, no. I'll never regret it. She's amazing."

"I know. I don't want her— _either_ of you—to get hurt. She's crazy about you. Just, don't hurt her, okay? If you don't really want to be with her, just let her go."

She didn't cry before, when she was talking about her mother abandoning her, but she's crying now, though she's quick to wipe away the tears. Her look is fierce, a warning.

Things start to fall in place as I watch her.

"Kris? Are _you_ in love with Kiki?"

She looks scared again, but shakes it off. Again, she gives that sad, fake smile.

"Thanks for driving me, Dillon. I'll see you around."

She's out of the car, inside the building, and I'm still staring at where she was just sitting.

We don't talk about it again. Kristina mostly stays away, crashing here and there. Kiki and I enjoy the silence of each other's presence; we never argue. It's so quiet between us, but not comfortably like before. Now I know that someone else loves her better than I do, with her whole heart, and is getting nothing but heartache in return. I feel guilty.

It's been a couple of weeks, and we're lying in bed when I ask Kiki if she's heard from Kris lately. It's very rare these days to see Kiki upset, but the tears are almost instant. She tries to swallow them down.

"I…no, not really. She hasn't…We don't really talk anymore." Then, softly, "I miss her."

I feel guiltier.

I wonder if Kristina fell in love with my girlfriend before or after we started dating. When she was dating Michael? Always? I think always.

I have no right to tell Kiki how Kris feels. But I do anyway.

"She loves you." I might have to clarify that. Friends can love each other. This is different. I look at her, and the guilty way she bites her lip and looks away, the burdened sigh, tells me that I don't need to explain.

"How long have you known?" I ask.

"Always." I thought so.

"And you? Do you…Are you…?"

She sighs again. "It's complicated."

I don't think so. I might be the biggest obstacle for them, and I'm cool as a cucumber.

"Why?"

"She's my best friend," she squeaks out. Kiki doesn't have any family, so I understand her distress. She doesn't want to lose her.

"She's my best friend, too. I think, us being together, it hurts her."

"I know."

"It's why she's never around anymore."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"How?"

She's thrown by the question, and struggles to come up with an answer.

"How do you love her?" I ask instead, curious.

"Like the whole world."

Her answer is so quick and certain, so full of desperate love, I feel like the wind is kicked out of me. At worst, I had expected, _more than a friend_. Not a…declaration.

"And how long have you known _that_?" I sound more hurt than I intend to. I can tell she doesn't want to tell me, but I suspect I already know the answer to that too.

"Always." I thought so.

"I didn't know what it was. For so long I just thought, what I felt was normal, because I never really had friends before. And when I made more friends, I knew that she was special."

I swallowed hard. "Five years is a long time not to love the one you love."

Her laugh is dry. "Yeah." she raises to rest on both elbows. "Are you angry?"

How can I be? "No. Not angry. I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think this was a possible outcome. I just…I guess I didn't realize how strongly you would…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I only want you to be happy. Both of you."

This is the mature part of me speaking. Not the hurt little boy whose parents were too busy fighting and making up and fighting to give him the love he craved. Not the teenager who fell head over heels for the first braces-clad girl to show him interest and mistook it for true love. Not the part of me that is now being rejected for the second time by the same girl for yet another one of my best friends. I'm temporarily ignoring the beating my male ego and self-esteem is taking right now.

She lets me hold her for what feels like hours. I think she is having some issues letting go of and moving on from this too. We'll hold onto safe for a little while longer. The outside world is scary and it's waiting for us. We'll be forced out of this room eventually by basic necessities—toilet, food, love—but now, I'll savor the comforting and boring moment.


	15. Fire Meets Gasoline: Hayden and Finn

Fire Meet Gasoline: Hayden & Finn

 _they're a perfect match, somehow (title from Sia)_

I always knew it was dangerous to fall in love. Especially with _him_. It's so weird because it's so unexpected. I loved Nikolas—in a demented kind of way—but I wasn't in love with him. Hamilton Finn is completely…different. Different from me, from anyone I've ever met.

He should hate me, almost did when he learned how my family aided in the death of his wife. The love of his life.

That's another reason why I know I'll only get hurt in the end. He's been very honest about his love and devotion for his late wife, about how he's dedicated his life—quite literally—to honoring her.

He's quirky. I'm not sure what all made me adore him in the first place. But it happened months ago. Way before I got arrested, right after our first kiss (story of my life). Perhaps it was when I learned about Roxy. His beloved bearded dragon was such a random and unexpected fact about him, and it made me feel less alone in the world to find someone whose closest companion was the same as the one I had as a child. It shouldn't have connected us; it was an interesting topic of conversation at best. But I adored him then.

He finally gave into our simmering chemistry, and we were explosive. Or at least, we had the potential for it. Then Tracy interrupted and everything sort of went to shit. Breaking off our burgeoning relationship—and our friendship—was difficult, but it still wasn't the wake-up call I'd hoped for myself. I still wanted him.

And then I got sick. He took me skating. I told him I loved him. He didn't say it back. He cured me. Except, not really. I was stable. He thinks I don't know that he's using most of the only medication we have on me. But Tracy has a big mouth.

We're both stable, but we're both dying. Funnily enough, it's Elizabeth—the sister I never wanted—who spurs me into action. I was being leaving the hospital.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked, and I had to stop a smart-ass comment from tumbling out. (We're better, but it's hard not to still be annoyed by her sometimes.)

"Go home—to the Quartermaines'—and rest, come to work tomorrow."

"I mean, what are you going to _do_? You just escaped death. You should, I don't know, celebrate."

She's wrong, I haven't escaped death yet. Just put it off for a few more weeks. But she's right. This last time was close enough, and I don't want to feel like I'll regret what I did or didn't do when the time comes.

I should have thanked her, told her that I was sorry for everything that happened between us and that I wanted to be a better sister to her.

"Yeah, maybe. See ya."

(Maybe I'll tell her on my next deathbed.)

Finn's surprised to see me outside his hotel room, holding onto the doorframe and barring my entrance.

"What are you doing here? You were supposed to go straight home. Someone was supposed to drive you there. And you should be in a wheelchair."

"Fuck you."

He looks stricken, his mouth open and brows raised.

"Sorry," I say. I didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he started taking to me like I couldn't handle myself and it pissed me off. "But you lied to me. I didn't think we did that to each other. Anymore."

"What are you—"

I duck under his arm and go into the room. Papers are scattered everywhere, and I imagine there is a similar mess in "his" lab at the hospital. Roxy is perched calmly as ever in her tank on the desk.

"Am I still sick, or not?" I demand.

He looks so guilty, his whole body sags. I kind of feel bad, because I know his intentions were not to hurt me.

"That's what I thought. Why didn't you just tell me? Did you think I would be mad at you?"

He sighs heavily. "You were doing so much better, and you were so happy…I didn't want to take that away from you."

"And how were you going to explain the needle you would have had to keep jamming in my arm? A precaution?"

"Well…"

"How long was I supposed to believe that? Until it ran out and one of us died? Because there isn't enough, is there?"

"Hayden…"

"Have you been taking your doses?"

He doesn't answer, but I can tell that he hasn't been taking enough; his skin's a bit paler, and there's a sheen that comes with fevered sweating. He probably hasn't been sleeping or eating much either, focusing on his work instead.

"Hamilton," I groan, frustrated. His eyes snap at me. I never call him that, and I wonder if that's what his wife called him.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I just needed to get that out first. That's not even why I came here."

"You didn't come here to eviscerate me? Then why?"

I laugh and give him a onceover.

"Go take a shower and I'll make us something to eat."

"There's no food here."

"Good, because I don't cook. I'll order room service while you…freshen up."

He pulled at the wrinkled button-down he was wearing. "That bad, huh?"

"I've seen worse. But yeah, it's pretty bad."

His face flushes with embarrassment and I smile at him again. He's relieved at that, and scurries away to get cleaned up.

Ten minutes later, room service comes by with pizza and wine. I don't usually allow myself the pleasure, but I'm currently terminal so I'll have all the bread and cheese I can stuff in my face.

"What'd you get?" Finn asked from the doorway as I pick up the wine bottle. He's using one towel to dry his hair and another is tied around his waist. I look at his innocent smile, then at the wine; his lean torso, the pizza; his sizable muscled arms—fuck, how did I not know he had tattoos?—and the couch. I will be indulging in many pleasures tonight.

"Hayden?"

"This is why?"

"Huh?"

"Hamilton—" I'm frustrated again because, how can he not get it already? " _This_ ," I gesture wildly between us. "You. I want it. You. Not it. I mean, I _do_ want it."

"What do you want?"

 _Resist the urge to throw things._

"Look, here's the thing. So far, you're dying. I'm dying. But we're not dead yet. And I don't want to go out wishing we weren't so afraid to…to try. I think you already know that I love you."

His eyes go big and he drops the towel he was holding. The one hiding his lower half stubbornly stays in place.

"I know, I was in and out of delirium when I said it before. But I meant it then, and I mean it now. Maybe you don't feel exactly the same. But you _feel_ something. You've just been fighting it because you were afraid that I would lose you. Well now we're on the same playing field, so that excuse won't fly anymore."

He doesn't say anything, and I think maybe it was telling him that I love him again that threw him off. And maybe I said all of that a bit aggressively while waving around a bottle of wine and my tone was kind of accusatory for some reason. Maybe I should dial it back some.

I lower my arm. "So, you know. If you want, I'm right here. I'm right here." Overcorrection: I sound insecure and desperate.

"Yeah, you're hard to miss."

"Don't laugh at me right now. I'm being very serious."

"I could tell. That was some speech."

I shrug. I already forgot most of what I said.

"It's odd," he says. "We're fundamentally different, you and I. Yet, you became one of the best friends I ever had."

If he gives me that "just friends" bullshit again I'm going to pull out both of our hair. He must see me shifting back into fight mode because he lifts his hands to placate me.

"When I knew I was attracted to you, I thought it was just that. Anyone with most senses can tell that you're beautiful."

He steps forward slowly, closing the distance between us. "The way you look, the way you smell." His hand traces the coat covering my shoulder, up my bare neck, and holds my jaw. "The way you feel. The way you…" He swallows hard as he looks at my lips and then closes his eyes. "…taste."

It's very possible for the body to forget how to breathe. _In. Out. In. Out._

Finn's head turns away and he looks at some spot on the wall. "When you got sick, I hated myself. I thought, I'm going to lose someone else I love and it's my own fault. I got desperate; I broke rules, even laws, allegedly, to finish the serum. To make you better. And myself, honestly. I thought, I'd cure you and then myself, and we'd be together, happy and healthy. But your blood tests came back and the virus was still detectable. And I hated myself again, and I knew you'd hate me. When you confronted me tonight, I was prepared to lose you. And I thought about all the chances, all the time I wasted.

"You scare me, Hayden. When I came to town, you were the last thing I expected. But you were a blaze, and I couldn't resist. I don't want to. Not anymore."

He wants me too, not that I didn't know that. But now I _know_.

"You love me."

"I love you?"

"Yes. You, Hamilton Finn, love me. You said it. You meant it. It's a done deal."

He frowned at me. "I didn't say—"

"You did. But it's everything else you said that convinces me that you're _in_ love with me. Don't worry, you can process that news later. Right now, we kiss."

"We kiss?"

"I don't know why you keep questioning me. Like I said: it's a done deal."

"Okay," he agreed. He holds me by the waist and my hands greedily explore his chest and abs.

"Finn?"

"Hmm?"

"About that kiss…"

"Right."

Our lips almost touch when he pulls away.

"Actually," he says, looking away. He's nervous or embarrassed to say what's on his mind, but I wait patiently. "Can you…call me Hamilton? I always hated it. My whole life, even when I was a kid, I always told people to call me Finn. No one ever called me Hamilton. But, I like how you say it. I like how you say my name."

Suddenly I don't hate my own name anymore. "Will…will you call me Rachel?"

He wasn't expecting that either, but he recovers with a smile. "Yes, Rachel."

It makes me want to cry because no one has called me that without contempt, let alone with love, in a very long time.

I sigh and lean into him. "Hamilton."


End file.
